Chapter 2 - The Trade Team
1338 Words
The Trade Team
By 7:15 every morning, Abu Dhabi had already changed its face.
The silence of dawn disappeared beneath traffic lights, delivery vans, office buses, and impatient car horns bouncing between glass towers. Men in ironed shirts walked quickly toward buildings carrying laptops, lunch boxes, and responsibilities heavier than both combined.
And somewhere between all that movement drove Burhanuddin Saifee in his silver Toyota Corolla, one hand resting on the steering wheel while the other balanced hot karak tea carefully beside the gear.
The city outside moved fast.
But Burhan never drove fast.
He enjoyed mornings too much for that.
Sometimes old qasidas played softly inside the car. Sometimes old Bollywood songs from the 90s. Sometimes complete silence. He liked silence too. It gave tired thoughts enough space to breathe.
At a signal near Electra Street, Burhan lowered the window slightly. Cold morning air entered carrying the mixed smell of tea cafeterias, petrol, and fresh bakery bread from nearby shops opening for business.
He smiled unconsciously.
This city had become home in strange ways.
Not emotionally perhaps.
But habitually.
By 7:45 AM, Burhan entered the office building of the power tools company where he worked as Trade Sales Team Leader.
The office itself was not luxurious, but respected. Bright white lights reflected across polished floors while industrial machines stood displayed neatly along walls — drilling machines, grinders, pressure washers, industrial cutters, and tool kits arranged like trophies.
The reception staff greeted him warmly.
“Good morning, Burhan bhai.”
“Morning,” he replied softly.
That was the thing about Burhan.
People liked him naturally.
Not because he spoke loudly.
Not because he tried too hard.
But because he treated everyone equally — receptionist, cleaner, office boy, warehouse helper, salesman, manager. In corporate life, respect usually traveled upward. Burhan gave it in every direction.
Inside the sales department sat the real reason the company consistently achieved impossible monthly targets.
Three desks.
Three tea cups.
Three completely different personalities.
Yet somehow…
one unbeatable team.
Rajesh.
Rizwan.
And Burhan.
Officially, they were colleagues.
But everyone inside the company knew the truth.
They were brothers.
Rajesh carried a sharp business mind. Calm under pressure, excellent with numbers, and honest with customers. He never oversold products unnecessarily, and because of that, clients trusted him deeply.
Rizwan, meanwhile, brought life into every room he entered. Friendly with everyone. Always smiling. Always joking. Half salesman, half entertainer. Even angry customers somehow ended up laughing around him.
And Burhan stood perfectly between both personalities. Calm. Disciplined. Hardworking. The kind of leader who never ordered people around but inspired people quietly through his own actions.
Their unity became famous inside the office.
Targets which other departments feared somehow looked achievable when assigned to them.
They shared leads openly.
Helped each other close deals.
Covered markets together.
Protected each other during management pressure.
No jealousy.
No politics.
No hidden competition.
Only teamwork.
And that made some people uncomfortable.
Because offices survive on targets.
But office politics survive on division.
One morning, Rizwan entered carrying tea cups dramatically.
“Gentlemen,” he announced proudly, “today’s karak sponsored by future millionaire Rizwan Ahmed.”
Rajesh looked up from his laptop.
“You still owe me twenty dirhams.”
“Investment delay,” Rizwan replied seriously.
Burhan laughed quietly while opening sales reports for the day.
Their desks looked less like corporate workstations and more like bachelor survival stations. Snack packets. Tea stains. Random invoices. Missing pens. Tangled chargers. Sticky notes carrying impossible reminders.
By 8:30 AM, the office had fully awakened.
“Rajesh bhai, stock available?”
“Burhan, client asking discount.”
“Rizwan, delivery delayed.”
Phones ringing endlessly.
Printers running continuously.
Warehouse workers moving cartons downstairs.
The office came alive like machinery switching on piece by piece.
Burhan handled pressure differently from others.
He never panicked.
Even during impossible month-end targets when managers became restless and sales numbers looked dangerous, Burhan somehow remained calm enough to think clearly.
“Don’t chase targets emotionally,” he often told Rajesh and Rizwan.
“Understand customer first. Target follows automatically.”
And strangely enough…
he was usually right.
By afternoon, the three often moved together across Abu Dhabi markets visiting hardware shops, construction suppliers, and industrial clients beneath brutal UAE heat.
Lunch rarely happened properly.
Sometimes cafeteria sandwiches inside the car.
Sometimes one biryani packet shared between three people.
Sometimes only chai pretending to be lunch.
Yet somehow, those small moments became the best part of workdays.
One afternoon after multiple client visits, the three parked near Corniche for a quick break. Rizwan removed his tie dramatically and leaned back into the seat.
“One day,” he declared emotionally, “I will become rich enough to never wear formal clothes again.”
Rajesh replied instantly,
“With your sales skills, impossible.”
Burhan laughed while passing Pepsi cans from the backseat cooler.
Those moments looked ordinary from outside.
But years later, they would become memories glowing softly inside tired hearts.
Inside the office, however, not everyone appreciated their friendship.
Some employees watched them with quiet irritation.
Why?
Because unity creates strength.
And strength attracts envy.
People tried small tricks.
One person privately told Rajesh:
“Burhan only takes credit in front of management.”
Another whispered to Rizwan:
“You work hardest but appreciation always goes to team leader.”
Some tried creating misunderstandings through fake conversations, twisted stories, and office gossip carefully designed to damage trust.
But Burhan understood corporate behavior very well.
He had seen enough offices to recognize poison before it spread.
One evening after work, the three sat together at a tea cafeteria near Mussafah. Plastic chairs. Strong chai. Exhausted faces after a long market day.
Burhan stirred his tea quietly before speaking.
“Listen carefully,” he said calmly.
Rajesh and Rizwan looked toward him.
“In offices, some people work for salary.”
He paused.
“And some people work for attention.”
Neither replied.
Burhan continued softly,
“As long as we stay honest with each other, nobody can break this team. The day we start doubting each other because of outsiders… finished.”
Silence settled briefly across the table.
Then Rizwan smiled.
“Too late,” he said. “You’re already stuck with us.”
Rajesh nodded seriously.
“Unfortunately.”
All three burst into laughter again.
That was their strength.
Communication.
Before misunderstandings could grow, they discussed everything openly. No ego. No silent resentment. No hidden competition.
And because of that, their friendship survived where many office friendships failed.
Late that evening, Burhan finally returned to Lasalas Club exhausted.
The apartment smelled of fried onions and tea. Someone watched cricket loudly in the hall while others argued over internet speed.
“Target achieved?” Yusuf shouted immediately.
Burhan dropped dramatically onto the sofa.
“Alhamdulillah.”
“Then today biryani celebration,” Aziz announced proudly.
Laughter filled the apartment instantly.
Burhan leaned back quietly watching his roommates move around the living room.
Life looked stable from outside.
Good friends.
Good job.
Respect in office.
Brotherhood inside Lasalas Club.
Yet somewhere deep within him, a strange emptiness still remained untouched.
As though life was preparing something…
but had not revealed it yet.
Near midnight, after dinner, Burhan finally lay down on his mattress scrolling aimlessly through his phone while the apartment slowly became quieter. One by one, lights switched off. Conversations faded. The city outside softened into silence.
And then suddenly—
Ping.
A w******p notification appeared on his screen.
Shabbir Bohra
Burhan’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
School friend.
Years had passed since they last spoke properly. Life had taken everyone in different directions — jobs, countries, responsibilities, survival.
Curious, Burhan opened the message.
“Arrey Burhan! Still alive or became big officer now?”
Burhan smiled instantly.
Some friendships never needed formal beginnings again.
He replied immediately.
“Alive somehow. And you?”
Within seconds, Shabbir replied back.
And unknowingly…
inside that ordinary midnight conversation between two old school friends…
destiny quietly prepared the first doorway toward Karachi.
- Writer
